your voice it sounds familiar
by l0ngl0st
Summary: ["Sometimes, she dreams about castles and a maze and bridges and wakes up with a crushing sadness sitting on her chest."] Bitterblue has dreams of a life she doesn't remember living. Reincarnation!AU, Bitterblue&Saf. Now a full-length fic.
1. Part I

**Title: **your voice it sounds familiar  
><strong>Summary: <strong>Bitterblue has dreams of a life she doesn't remember living. Reincarnation!fic.

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><p><em>The dream that I have is always the same...<br>Hey, do you remember me the way that I remember you?_  
>~War, Emmy the Great<p>

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><p>Sometimes, she dreams about castles and maze and bridges and wakes up with a crushing sadness sitting on her chest. On those days, she throws herself into house chores and farm work with more vigor, determined to make herself useful, to fight the helplessness she feels in some of her dreams.<p>

"Bitterblue," her mother calls from downstairs, "could you tend the chickens?"

Bitterblue manages to wrestle her hair into two loose, messy braids, and heads down the stairs. Her father is sitting at the kitchen table, drinking milk and reading the paper, but from the dirt on his boots she knows he'll return to the fields soon. She grabs a piece of toast and a basket, pausing to let her mother kiss her on the cheek, before heading to the barn.

She hums as she feeds them and checks their nests for eggs. The chickens' feathers tickle the sides of her calves as she moves among them. It's a quiet, peaceful life, for the most part, and thirteen-year-old Bitterblue has grown quite fond of the routine.

Upon emerging from the barn, she stops. A few yards away, on the other side of the fence, she can see a boy in overalls. He slouches slightly, a piece of straw held between his teeth, but straightens when he sees her. She hasn't seen him before, doesn't remember spotting his face in the dusty one-room schoolhouse. But when their eyes meet, something stirs in her stomach, like a colt waking from its sleep.

The boy frowns slightly as he studies her, as if trying to figure out a puzzle. He has deep blue eyes set in a suntanned, freckled face. (She thinks of the color purple, then wonders why.)

Bitterblue snaps out of her trance and manages to raise her voice. "H-hello? Can I help you with something?"

The boy shakes his head slowly, then turns and walks away, hands shoved in his pockets. _How strange,_ Bitterblue thinks, and starts to turn away as well. She pauses. The boy, his back still turned to her, has raised a hand, and although it could be a gesture of farewell Bitterblue imagines that maybe he means, _See you sometime soon._

(She remembers: warm hands, warm breath, two heads bent over a small gold watch.)

That night, she dreams of a rooftop and a purple-eyed thief.


	2. Part II

**A/N: **originally this was just going to be a little drabble I posted for the Saf/Bitterblue ship week last year, but then I got really into it so yeah! In total this will be six parts; here's the second :)

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><p>Bitterblue next sees him kicking up dust in the field behind the schoolhouse, locked in a scuffle with some of the stockier boys from the surrounding farms. He has the look of a townsperson to him, all coiled strength and lean muscles, whereas the farm boys Bitterblue has grown up with are ruddier and broad-shouldered. The girls have retreated to the side, none of them wanting to get involved.<p>

Bitterblue watches for a few more minutes before she raises her voice above the din and enunciates as clearly as she can: "Hey, is that Mrs. Crow headed this way?"

The words have the intended effect. The skirmish grinds to a halt, the boys who have grown up knowing the smack of Mrs. Crow's ruler all too well quickly combing through their hair and trying to make themselves presentable. No one actually bothers taking stock of the surroundings; they hurry into the schoolhouse without question.

Except for Bitterblue. She stands and watches as the freckled _boy-from-before_, as she has taken to calling him until she learns his name, gets to his feet and dusts himself off.

"You could say thank you," she points out after the silence drags too long for her liking.

He turns his head to the side and spits before tugging another boy up by the collar. "This is Teddy," he says instead.

Teddy's glasses have been knocked askew; he adjusts them before extending a hand to her, his other hand clutching a book to his chest. Despite his owlish appearance, he seems younger than thirteen, with a daydreaming look in his eyes. "Pleased to meet you. I'm new here, and so is Saf, and I guess—um, I guess roughing each other up is the way of welcome, here."

Saf rolls his eyes, kicking at the dirt. Bitterblue gets the sense that he is all too used to jumping into fights on Teddy's behalf. Teddy looks dazed but mostly unharmed, whereas Saf's overalls are dirt-streaked and he has a scratch near his jaw.

(For an instant, she sees a young man, gold flashing in his ears, silhouetted in the dim lighting of a bar.)

"Do you go into town much?"

Bitterblue is startled to realize that Saf is speaking to her, despite having not acknowledged her before. "Not often," she says, because the walk from her farm into town takes a good fifteen minutes, and she only makes trips to pick up and drop off goods.

Saf nods, mulling over her answer. "That's where we live," he explains, gesturing to himself and Teddy. "We moved in a few days ago. My parents own an antique shop, but they also fix things."

Bitterblue senses an unspoken invitation in his words, but before she can answer, she spots Mrs. Crow in the distance, walking down the path to school.

"We should go," she urges. "Before she rings the bell."

Saf and Teddy take her word for it, and the three of them file into the schoolhouse. Bitterblue takes her usual seat next to her friends, while Saf and Teddy find themselves a place at the back, and for the rest of class they don't speak.

Still, when the day finally ends, she finds them waiting for her at the gate. Saf pushes away from the fence and holds out a hand—his grip is loose, his palms coarse. "So, do you want to come?" he asks.

Teddy is already beaming at her as if they're best friends, so Bitterblue shrugs, replies, "Why not?" and follows the two of them into town.


	3. Part III

"Scared of heights?" Saf's smirk is too knowing, too familiar. He perches on one of the branches above her, legs swinging lazily. Bitterblue glares.

For a moment, she has the strange sensation of a rooftop rolling beneath her feet, but she pushes it down quickly and faces the tree in front of her. Determined, she leaps toward the lowest branch, hoisting herself up. Once she starts climbing, Bitterblue realizes the branches are closer together than they appear from the ground, and she pulls herself up using one after another, gaining confidence as she goes.

As her hands lock around the branch Saf sits on, Bitterblue makes the mistake of looking down.

(Out of nowhere, she imagines men in hot pursuit, and a shadowy figure carrying her up a ladder.)

Bitterblue gasps at the sudden image flashing before her eyes. Her foot slips. She flails, feet scrabbling against the trunk, kicking out as they struggle to regain purchase. The ground swings dizzily below her. She becomes acutely aware of the distance between her and the dirt and braces herself for the inevitable injury, thinking of which limb she is most okay with breaking (the answer: none of them), but—before she can take the fall—rough hands grab her wrists, bringing her back to her senses and hauling her to safety.

Bitterblue curls over the branch as she regains her breath. The rough bark digs into her palms and chest uncomfortably, and she swings her legs over and inches sideways to Saf once she thinks she can manage.

Saf leans against the trunk, looking unimpressed. He pulls an apple from his pocket, shining it against his jeans before taking a bite. "You don't have to do stuff you're scared of just to prove a point to me, you know," he says, chewing.

Bitterblue catches the apple he tosses to her and snorts. "Balls," she says. "It has nothing to do with you."


	4. Part IV

**A/N: **Thirteen-year-old Bitterblue&Saf just really makes me happy. Also, I've been wanting to write in Po for a while because I love his relationship with Bitterblue, so :)

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><p>"My dad just got a new shipment of watches. You're going to come, right? With me and Teddy, to look at them after school?"<p>

Bitterblue pauses, in the process of fixing her braid, and shakes her head. "Sorry, Saf, but I can't hang out with you guys today."

Saf narrows his eyes. "Why not?"

"My cousin's coming." She bounces slightly in her seat. "All the way from the city."

"Hmph." Saf snorts, turning back to his exercise book. Saf and Teddy have migrated from the back of the room to sit near her nowadays. She spends time in town with them every afternoon before heading home to do chores and finish homework. Theirs is an unlikely friendship, and some of the other girls whisper, but Saf and Teddy are no coarser than their trousers—all in all, good kids.

Bitterblue sneaks a glance at Mrs. Crow, who is patrolling up and down the aisles. Trying to appear productive, she returns to practicing her penmanship. However, Saf swings his attention away from his book and back to her, interrupting her work. "How old is your cousin?"

"Twenty-one."

Saf wrinkles his nose. "That's pretty old_._"

Bitterblue frowns at him. "So?"

"So what's so great about him? How can he be any fun?"

"Po's not boring at all. And he's mature," Bitterblue sniffs, irritated and defensive.

"Fine. Teddy and I'll look at the watches by ourselves, then," Saf decides, stretching.

Bitterblue grabs his upper arm. "What? That's not fair. Can't you wait a few days until I can see them with you, too?"

"They'll be on display by then. The whole point is that we want to sneak a peek at them before my dad puts them on sale," argues Saf.

"You're just trying to make me feel bad," huffs Bitterblue. "Well, fine. You and Teddy can look at your precious watches. I don't care, I'm still going to spend time with Po."

"Fine," Saf retorts. "I hope you have fun."

They don't speak for the rest of the day.

o.O.o

As soon as Bitterblue's feet hit the dirt path to her front porch, Po emerges, and Bitterblue flies into his arms. He laughs and swoops her around before setting her down.

"You're getting big," he grins, making a show of pretending that lifting her up strained him.

Bitterblue punches his arm. "Balls. I'm still shorter than you, though."

"I have a surprise." Po's eyes twinkle as they walk together into the house.

Bitterblue perks up. "What is it?"

"A weapon," winks Po. "But don't worry, I got it approved by your parents."

They walk into the kitchen, and there, gleaming on the table, sits a bow and arrow, the lone bulb casting a glow over the dark wood.

"Oh, Po," gasps Bitterblue. "It's beautiful."

Po laughs. "I suppose it is. Would you like to practice?"

"There are some boards and paint in the barn," says Bitterblue, picking the bow up to admire it from all angles. She runs a finger along its sleek curve and pulls a little at the bowstring. It vibrates, and Bitterblue can almost imagine it humming.

She and Po get to work painting targets and arranging them around the barnyard. Po reveals a bow of his own, and Bitterblue tries hard to imitate his stance. Her first few attempts end disappointingly, bouncing off the dirt, but eventually she manages enough to get the noses to drive into the bottom of the targets.

They go back and forth, nocking their arrows, letting them fly, retrieving them. The sky turns purple as dusk approaches. Bitterblue breathes in the rich night air. Things around her seem to have stilled, and something about the moment convinces her that this next arrow will fly true.

"Whoa."

Her shot goes wide—she swings around, hissing angrily, _"Saf!"_

But Saf's focus isn't on her. He stares in awe, instead, at Po, who has hit a bulls-eye. There is no mistaking the admiration in his voice as he leans over the fence and asks, "Where'd you learn to do _that?_"

Po shoots her an amused glance, and Bitterblue coughs disgustedly, "Po, this is my friend Saf. Saf, this is my cousin, Po," before she marches off to find her arrow.

Po approaches the fence with a hand out. He and Saf shake, and soon they are off in their own world, talking wood and weapons. Bitterblue walks behind the barn, searching for her missing projectile. She doesn't find it and continues farther, thinking it might have fallen into the bushes.

As she pushes aside the leaves, she pushes down the strange jealousy swelling in her chest. Something about the way Saf and Po's heads lean together makes her feel excluded. Saf is a bundle of contradictions, and the thought rankles her, covering her with an itch like poison ivy. Hadn't he just been going on about how older people couldn't be any fun? _And_ he and Teddy had the nerve to peek at the new watches without her.

Bitterblue locates her arrow and marches back to the boys, the feathers at the tail digging into her hand. She grinds her heels a little harder into the dirt, but they don't notice her until she coughs, loudly. Po can barely restrain his laughter (she reminds herself to kick him later), while Saf's expression, when directed at her, is bland.

Bitterblue glares.

(There's something else that bothers her. She's seen this look on Saf's face before, the respect for Po shining his eyes—in another place, another time. But that's impossible.)

"Why are you here, Saf? I told you I'd be busy."

Saf inspects the bow in one of her hands, the arrow in the other, and arches an eyebrow. "Having fun?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact. What about you and Teddy?"

Saf picks at his elbow before shoving his hands in his pockets and shrugging. "We didn't look."

Some of her anger melts away. "Really? I mean, why not?"

Saf smirks but doesn't answer her question. Instead, he points to the target. "So, are you any good?"

Bitterblue looks over her shoulder. "I'm working on it. And obviously, you saw how good Po is."

"Could I try?"

Bitterblue hesitates, not wanting to relinquish her gift so soon, before agreeing. However, Po offers up his bow instead, and Saf swings himself over the fence to stand by Bitterblue. They end up making a competition of it, and Bitterblue is secretly delighted when she wins. Evening creeps further across the field, the sky blending into night. A few mosquitoes are starting to clog the air when Saf decides to go home.

"Tomorrow?" he asks, pausing at the fence.

Bitterblue pulls the arrow from her target and nods. "Tomorrow," she agrees.

After Saf leaves, Po's grin gleams in the darkness. "He's sweet on you," he declares.

Bitterblue shoots him a withering look, walking back to the main house. "Ha," she snorts.

Po follows close behind, whistling. "And _you're_ not as immune as you'd like to be."

Bitterblue bites her tongue; Po is too much of an idiot to justify a response. She hates when he acts as if he can read her mind.

She hates it even more when he's right.


	5. Part V

The sky is the biggest she's ever seen it, stretched wide open and painted a clear, brilliant blue. The grass, along with the sound of Saf's laugh, tickles her sides. When he chortles particularly hard, his freckles tend to bunch together. Lately, Bitterblue has started wondering how many he has, and if she'll ever get close enough (or get him to sit still for long enough) to count them.

They're fourteen and have taken to meeting in the fields by her house, ever since Hank, one of the other school kids, happened upon them in their usual tree closer to town. Saf nailed him in the eye with an acorn before he could finish singing, "Bitterblue and Saf, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G," and, in an effort to avoid bothersome attention (and any resulting fistfights Saf is liable to engage in), Bitterblue decided they should meet somewhere else.

Saf's laughter dies down, carried away by a light breeze. Out of nowhere, he announces, "I might be leaving."

"What?"

"I might be leaving." Saf turns on his side to face her. His eyes, normally full of mirth and a challenge, are more subdued—sober.

Bitterblue turns back to the sky, feeling his gaze on the side of her face. "Where would you go?"

"The city. My parents have been talking about it. There are probably more opportunities there, at least for the likes of us. It'll be an adventure."

Saf is always in search of adventure. Bitterblue fights the bubble of panic rising in her chest and, barely managing to keep her voice steady, asks, "When would you leave?"

Saf shrugs. "No idea. Within the end of the year, probably," he adds, softer.

Bitterblue has had this conversation before. It hits her with a devastating clarity: a boy—no, a young man—standing before her in a nearly bare room, about to take flight. And it hurts just as much as it did then, because goodbyes are always painful, no matter when or to who they happen.

She doesn't want to have this dream again. She can feel, in her bones, what Saf's next words will be, long before he says them. And she knows, too, what she will answer.

"You could come, too." Saf sounds almost shy, and even while part of her is caught unaware by his offer, the other part—older, heavier—has already braced itself for it.

"You know that isn't how things work," she answers. "We're not like you. My family has a farm to take care of."

"Right, I forgot." Saf's voice reverts back to its airy lightness, his attention returning to the sky. But a little bit of regret slips into his tone when he says, "It was worth a shot."

Bitterblue swallows past the sudden lump in her throat and brushes against his hand for a brief minute, finding his fingers in the grass. She is about to pull away, but Saf holds her there, the sensation of his palm pressed against hers familiar and foreign at the same time.

"I'm sorry, Bitterblue," he murmurs.

(His voice is too soft, his hands too rough, and she senses something missing—there should be rings on his fingers. The idea flits away just as quickly as it arrived.)

"Don't be sorry," Bitterblue says, stronger than she feels. "Nothing's for sure, yet."

But that night, the only things she sees in her dream are people's backs: turning, leaving, fading away.


	6. Part VI

_Flowers fade, the fruits of summer fade  
>They have their seasons, so do we<br>But please promise me that sometimes  
>You will think of me<em>

~"Think of Me," from _The Phantom of the Opera_

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><p>"Bitterblue, there's someone here to see you."<p>

"Tell him to go away." Bitterblue shoves some more porridge into her mouth, trying to quell the rising panic, because she knows what's in store. But she hasn't let go of the hope that maybe, if she avoids the conversation altogether, it will fade away. It will be nothing more than a bad dream.

"Bitterblue," her mother says firmly, taking her bowl away. "I did not raise you to have these manners. If you want the boy to leave, you will tell him yourself."

Groaning, Bitterblue shoves away from the dining table and out the door, to where Saf waits, standing on the other side of the fence.

She freezes.

Saf's hands are shoved in his pockets and his eyes are downcast, but they snap up at the sound of her approach. Bitterblue manages to move again, though each step drags, as if wading through mud.

She stops in front of Saf, who rests his forearms on the fence. The poles stand as a barrier separating them, but it isn't enough—Bitterblue can feel herself pulled toward him all the same.

"It's time," he says quietly.

Bitterblue finds a knot in the wood and focuses all her attention on it. "Are you…is everything packed up?"

Saf nods, scratching at the fence with a rock. Bitterblue watches him begin to carve something into the pole, waiting for him to speak. "We've got the caravan and horses. We'll probably leave at dawn tomorrow morning, so I wanted…"

(_"There, now, we've both asked each other the same question. You asked me to stay, and I asked you to come with me.")_

…to say goodbye."

Bitterblue nods numbly.

"Will you come out?" Saf requests hesitantly. "I don't want us to leave like this." He gestures to the space between them.

(_"Let me dream that we part as friends.")_

Bitterblue unlatches the gate, swinging it shut behind her. Saf tosses his rock aside, and she doesn't have time to check what he has carved into the wood because he has shoved his hands back into his pockets and stands before her, staring straight in her eyes.

All the sparkling amusement she has grown to associate with Saf over the past year has been stripped from his face. His eyes are the most open she's ever seen them; there's something uncertain but hopeful when he declares, "I'll write to you."

Bitterblue bites her lip. "Don't make promises you can't keep," she warns, because if there's anything she hates more than the idea of him leaving, it's that he will be taking a part of her with him. A piece of her she hadn't meant to give, that will only continue to beat like a second heart if he bestows her this false hope.

"I mean it," Saf says, and dips his head.

Their kiss is sloppy and not at all how Bitterblue expected, but it is made bittersweet by the tang of apples on Saf's breath and the reluctance of their separation. The knowledge that this is both a first and a last, a beginning and an end.

"There, now," Saf clears his throat, his gaze shy but relieved. "Sealed with a kiss."

Bitterblue shoves his chest lightly. "I expect you'll get into all sorts of trouble wherever you go. So you'd better write me some pretty fantastic stories."

Saf grins, slow and sure as a sunrise. It pulls something from her, a tug in her gut, reminding Bitterblue of warm arms around her, a dying fire, falling-out braids. It seems cruel, to be presented this flash of something that has happened—or, maybe, something that could have happened—only to have it taken away. But this time, Bitterblue isn't bitter.

"I will," he answers.

They stand there for a moment, fingers intertwined. It is this contact that solidifies things for Bitterblue, convinces her that their hands were meant to find each other.

But they were also meant to let go.

"Good luck," she whispers, leaning forward to rest her forehead against his shoulder.

"You too, Bitterblue," he mumbles into her hair, and she wonders when he became taller.

And then he pulls back and begins on his journey away, and, for what feels like the second time in her life, Bitterblue watches him leave while she stays.

o.O.o

It is June and the screen door swings open lazily. A letter waits on the table.


End file.
